A time for healing
by Daenar
Summary: Harm and Mac have a phone conversation the night before 9/11 2002. Just a few quiet musings and a little romance.


Title: A time for healing Author: Daenar Disclaimer: JAG is property of Belisarius Productions, Paramount and CBS. No copyright infringement intended. Rating: PG Category: Just some quiet musing, rather sad. But it's a shipper story.  
  
A.N.: This is a little piece that I felt I had to write down to deal with what I experienced earlier today at work in the editorial office. I was told to write a detailed chronology about 9/11 and while viewing the material and reading what some people lived through that day, the memories just overwhelmed me and made me feel all the pain all over again. I didn't lose anyone that day, and I was thousands of miles away. But I was just as scared as anyone because I witnessed a powerful attempt to destroy the values that I believe in and the world that I love.  
  
Many thanks to Heather for beta-reading!  
  
  
  
September 11th, 2002 0521 ZULU Mac's apartment Georgetown, D.C.  
  
[MAC'S POV]  
  
I can't sleep. I tried. But it won't work. I know that. I know myself. I'm tough and I can will myself to do almost anything. But I can't will myself to fall asleep. It's always been the same, whenever something really upsets me. Thoughts come and go quickly. They spin through my mind, never really making their way to my conscious. The only constant is the pain. It's nothing I can't take. I can almost ignore it. It's some sort of a dull ache that creates a certain pressure inside my chest. But it's there and it won't go away as long as I don't sleep. Sleeping either makes you forget or it lets your problems culminate in a nightmare, and at a certain point you can just wake up and be glad that it's over. But I can't sleep.  
  
I opened the window a little while ago. Now I'm leaning against the window frame, my arms crossed in front of my chest, and I let my eyes wander around. It's a warm night that still tells of summer. The moon hasn't come out yet but it will, around 0330 EST. I read it in the paper, next to the weather forecast. It's a peaceful night, few noises. It was a peaceful night a year ago, too, before all hell broke loose.  
  
I can't believe it's really been a year since the day that changed our lives. Right now I'm not thinking of all the people who were directly involved in the tragedy. With all the memorial services, the TV stations showing their dreadful images over and over again, all those memorial pages or brochures that they throw on the market and all the books that are on sale again... with all those things you can be sure to remember those people anyway. You are forced to stumble over their stories. And somehow you can't prevent them from getting to you. It could have been me. I mean, I do go over to the Pentagon regularly, don't I? I could have gone there that day and for some reason I didn't.  
  
But at the moment I'm not thinking about the victims or their families. I'm contemplating how the attacks changed my very own, personal life - my priorities, my ways of thinking. And the lives of those I care about most.  
  
Did I ever think of going to Afghanistan before? Of Harm stepping on a landmine? Of Bud losing a leg to one of those damn things? Of Harm putting his life at stake - once again - to chase a dirty nuke? This last year had a couple of bitter lectures on life for me. Just because someone out there hates us so much that he convinces young people to fly planes into buildings, killing thousands of innocent men and women.  
  
A slight breeze makes my bathrobe flutter slightly. I hug myself a little tighter, wondering if there might be other people that are unable to sleep because they're busy fighting the demons of the past that might easily be the same that we'll have to face in the future.  
  
I long to call Harm. At least there's a little sunray in the dark picture that I just painted. We've moved closer to one another. I refuse to think that we needed this tragedy and its aftermath to finally get onto the right road. Well, maybe we did. But I still hope we would have managed anyway. Nevertheless, things, being as they are, all the pains and fears that we've experienced during the last few months, did tie us considerably closer to one another. We got a few hints on how easily one of us could leave the other behind. Maybe I'll just call him.  
  
I walk over to my nightstand and get my cordless phone. As I'm about to dial, it starts ringing.  
  
"Mackenzie."  
  
["I knew you would be up."]  
  
"Harm? What's up?"  
  
["Can't sleep."] His voice is low and a little strained.  
  
"What's the matter?" I ask although I think I know.  
  
["Just thinking about all and nothing."]  
  
"Yeah. Me, too."  
  
["I suspected as much."]  
  
"You sound troubled."  
  
["You know, Mac, ever since we've been back home, it's been difficult to shut things out. They... well... sort of lurk in a distant corner and once your defenses are down they start to haunt you."]  
  
"Wanna come over for a cup of coffee?"  
  
I can hear him smile. ["Every other day I'd already be at your doorstep. But tonight I feel like I'd rather stay on my own. I..."]  
  
A small wave of disappointment sweeps over me, but I sense that he's not finished yet. There's something he wants to add, he just doesn't seem to know how to express it. I simply wait. He needs a little time.  
  
He tries again. ["When I'm with you it...well, kind of overwhelms me... emotionally, you know. It always did. I guess I just stopped fighting it at some point within the last months. And I'm comfortable with it. But on a day like this, when your emotions are already up high... being with you would still disconcert me too much, Sarah. You understand that, don't you?"]  
  
His honesty touches me. He tries to talk from the heart, and I'm grateful for it. "I do. But what about sharing a cup of coffee on the phone? You called me, remember?"  
  
Soft chuckling makes its way across the phone line. ["Yeah. Hold on for a minute, will you?"]  
  
I can hear him put the receiver down. I go into the kitchen and get myself busy with the coffee maker. Just as the brown liquid starts to trickle into the mug, he picks up the receiver again. ["I've got my coffee. You?"]  
  
"Working on it," I reply quietly, not really knowing what to say next. The dull pain is still there, although it lessens while he talks to me.  
  
For a minute we are silent. Then he speaks up, his voice distant. ["Do you think any of them suspected that something was about to happen?"]  
  
Knowing exactly whom he refers to, I answer, sighing. "I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes you get a feeling that something's up. But I'm sure no one ever expected it to be as terrible as this." I take my mug and take a deep sip. When I go on, my voice is low. "What makes them hate us that much, Harm?"  
  
["We're different."]  
  
"So what?" I let out a bitter laugh.  
  
["That's what it always comes down to, Mac. Name one war that doesn't."]  
  
I think about it. Perhaps he's right. "What's so wrong about people being different from one another?"  
  
["Nothing. It just takes a lot of courage to see that. It's quite easy to accept that if you're well off. If you aren't, it's easier to blame the others for your present state. What I don't understand is why they won't accept the help we keep offering them."]  
  
"Islam tends to be dogmatic. True, it doesn't tell you to kill innocent people. But it commands you to fight for your religion with fire and sword. That's what they think they are doing. We're the unfaithful."  
  
["So you already have your answer to your question why they hate us."]  
  
"But fighting the unfaithful doesn't necessarily mean doing it cowardly, Harm. There are other ways."  
  
He sighs. ["Maybe it's just that they can't accept that our world works and theirs doesn't."]  
  
"We've had six-hundred years more time than the Muslims to come to terms with our beliefs. Think back to where Christianity's been six-hundred years ago and you'll find yourself in the middle of the Spanish inquisition."  
  
["You want to tell them: 'All you have to do is wait another six-hundred years and you'll be fine?' That's no solution, Mac. That's why we keep offering to help them, to shorten the learning process."]  
  
"Sometimes I get the feeling that the Western world could be a little more diplomatic, though. We tend to treat them like little children. But their culture is far older than ours. Maybe they'd be more willing to listen if we were more willing to respect them."  
  
["You first have to reform mankind then, Mac. Even if you get nine out of ten people to stick to your scheme, one Osama will show up and destroy it."]  
  
I find myself getting angry upon hearing him talk like that. "So you propose to just let everything be? To give up fighting for what's dear and valuable to us, for what we believe in? Just because you say that we can't protect our world anyway?"  
  
["I didn't mean that, and you know it. But I don't want us to cling to simple truths. You know, I think if there's one thing that I learned during the events of the past year, it might very well be to go on living according to your own beliefs. I believe in our society and that's why I'll always stand up and defend it if I get the chance. But we mustn't throw away our lives, either, trying to come up with solutions for problems that are far too complex to be solved in one man's lifetime."] His voice lowers to almost a whisper. ["Live by your values, Mac. Here and now. Protect and defend them. If everyone did just that, things might work out after all. I don't think there's much more you or I could do. But we could seize the time that God allows us to have."]  
  
Swallowing my last sip of coffee, I am silent for quite some time. He lets me have my time, knowing I would never hang up. "I guess you're right," I finally state thoughtfully. "We need to do everything we can within our own little range of action. But we do have the right to sometimes shut out the rest and just live for ourselves. The only thing we must make sure is that we don't lose our trust in God."  
  
["And we must never forget to thank Him that He lets us meet people who'll always stand by your side. That we are allowed to love."]  
  
"I thank God for you, Harm. Thanks for helping me to get back on track," I state simply. It comes out so naturally, that I don't really care that I probably just revealed more than I ever planned on.  
  
["You just did the same for me. We didn't solve any problems. But sharing them eases the pain, doesn't it, Sarah?"]  
  
"Yeah."  
  
["Do you think you'll be able to sleep now, Marine?"] he asks tenderly.  
  
I smile. "Yeah, I guess I do. You?"  
  
["Yeah."]  
  
"Good night, Harm. Thank you for calling."  
  
["Good night, Sarah."]  
  
Our silence lingers a few seconds. Neither of us really wants to end the connection. Too much has been said, but yet too much still remains unspoken. On impulse, I take a deep breath.  
  
"Harm?"  
  
["Yeah?"]  
  
"I love you."  
  
Silence. God, I said too much. I knew it! Don't you ever learn, Mackenzie?  
  
Then suddenly I hear him exhale as if he'd been holding his breath. His voice is very warm when he speaks, making me see his obviously surprised smile that is just a little unsure.  
  
["I love you, too, Sarah."]  
  
With a smile on my lips and in my heart, I end the connection. I know I'll sleep now. The pain is gone.  
  
  
  
THE END (Feedback always appreciated.) 


End file.
